


Prédestiné

by mmmelmoth



Category: Le Petit Prince | The Little Prince - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Bilingual, Crush at First Sight, Crushes, Cute Ending, F/M, Florist AU, Fluff, Français | French, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Inspired By Tumblr, Politeness, Tattoos, The Little Prince - Freeform, also this is a bilingual fic I don't really know why I did that, aw yiss, cute French people, cute people, full of happiness and warmth, just cuties being cuties, oui oui baguette, tattoo artist au, this is a family friendly fic, well basically the entire story is cute, why do I ship these two characters from a childrens book so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-29 02:41:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12072906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmelmoth/pseuds/mmmelmoth
Summary: This is basically just the tattoo artist/ florist AU I read about on tumblr, but with French dialogues and lots of references to the actual book. No worries, everything French is translated.





	Prédestiné

In the city of Marseilles, France, there was a small road leading away from the big shopping avenues. There happened to be a flower shop next to a tattoo parlour entitled _La Douleur Mortelle_ , which roughly translates to DEATHLY PAIN.

The two shops had moved in around the same time, so one could conclude that the two extraordinarily contrastive owners were predestined to meet in a fashion. Or perhaps it was simply a lucky coincidence.

 

One way or the other, the owner of the flower shop came over with a homemade cake the week after both of them had moved in, the week after both of them had watched the moving vans bring in exceptionally colourful furniture into the one shop and excessively black furniture into the other out of the corners of their eyes. Politely, the owner pushed open the neighbour’s door, stepping on a black AC/DC doormat and was instantly startled by a screaming motion sensor. The tattoo parlour’s owner scrambled up from one of the black leather couches and touched a button to disable the loud noise, naming the song’s title in the process: “ _Disturbed: Stricken._ ” Simultaneously, hands were wiped on green cotton pants and on ripped black skinny jeans and then extended for the other one to shake.

«  _Je suis le propriétaire du magasin a coté, Le Prince Fleuri. Prince, c’est moi, c’est mon nom. »_ The florist offered with a smile: I’m the owner of the shop next door, Blossoming Prince. Prince, that’s me, that’s my name. His counterpart took his hand after pushing a strand of bright pink hair behind her ears. «  _Enchanté. Moi, je m’appelle Rose. »_ Pleasure. My name is Rose. «   _Vraiment? »_ Exclaimed the Prince, really? «  _Quel hasard, eh ? »_ , answered the Rose (What a coincidence!) and pointed towards the cake in the Prince’s other hand, « _Vous avez_ _quoi, là? »_   The Prince, who had almost forgotten about the cake, was reminded by her question of what he got there, and answered: « _C’est pour dire bonjour, une tarte aux framboises._ _C’est pour vous. »_ It’s to say hello, a raspberry cake. It’s for you. The Rose’s eyebrows went up in surprise. «  _J’_ adore _les framboises!_ _Quand meme, il faut que j’insiste : Mangez-la avec moi. »_ I do love raspberries, is what she’d said, but I’ll have to insist anyway that you eat it with me.

And the Prince forgot common courtesy and that he should at least have hinted that eating his own cake would fail its purpose as a present, and he nodded eagerly. All it took was one bat of the Rose’s heavily lined, unusually turquoise eyes.

She pushed the (black) coffee table with (black) folders full of tattoo designs closer towards the canapé and allowed the Prince to set the cake down. _« Je n’ai rien préparé en retour de la tarte »_ , she excused and smirked, _« mais on pourrait négocier sur un tatouage gratuit. »_ The cake hit the table with a soft thump and shock spread out palely over the Prince’s round face. How was he supposed to deal with the offer of a free tattoo? _« Je ne m’ai jamais considéré comme la personne à avoir les tatouages. »_ He stammered, I never thought of myself as a person to have tattoos. Gently, she pulled him onto the couch and laughed lightly. _« La question n’est pas de trouver les propres personnes à avoir les tatouages, mais de trouver les propres tatouages pour chaque personne, non? »_ _« Peut-être »_ Maybe, the prince replied, after she’d told him that the question is not to find the right people for having tattoes, but to find the right tattoo for each person, isn’t it?

And the Rose flipped a butterfly knife out of the upper seam of her jeans, laughing again at his expression. «  _T’inquiète pas._ » No worries, and she cut the cake into four equal pieces. _« Deux à vous, deux à moi. »_ She said, two for you and two for me. With relish, she bit into the first of her pieces, until the Prince followed her example.

_« C’est la meilleure tarte que j’ai jamais gouté! »_ The Rose exclaimed vigourously that this was the best cake she’d ever tasted. Timid and intimidated as he was, the Prince knew little of what to answer to such a compliment.

_« Je viens de la faire ce matin. »_ is what he settled for; I just baked it this morning.

With her mouth full, the pink-haired tattoo artist named Rose repeated: _« Elle est merveilleuse, tellement._ _Alors, dites-moi ce que vous pouvez bien imaginer d’avoir tatoué. »_ It’s marvelous, really. And then she went on: So tell me, what could you imagine having as a tattoo? The Prince gave her question some thought while she picked up the next quarter of cake, then he decided: _« Un éléphant, peut-être ? »_ An elephant, maybe? Dumbfounded, she repeated: _« Un élephant ? »_ _« Pas d’éléphant conventionel. »_ No ordinary elephant, he added and she smiled brightly, her teeth now coloured by the raspberries in the same pink as her lipstick.

 

And the same day, the Prince left the tattoo parlour with an unordinary elephant on the inside of his forearm and an empty cake tray. A mere day later, he walked into _La Douleur Mortelle_ again, no longer flinching at the motion sensor screaming, carrying a customised flower-crown to fit Rose’s hair colour and head size. Coming home the day before, he’d found that only a _tarte aux framboises_ was too little in exchange for a tattoo. It took them until the day after that, when Rose walked into the colourful and fragrant flower shop next door, still wearing the daisies on her head with more pride than the most expensive jewellery, to ask the Prince if he cared to have a coffee with her in her favourite little café downtown.

 

_Les grandes personnes sont comme ça. – Antoine de Saint-Exupéry_

 


End file.
